Only You Can Save the World!
by FluffyGonzalez
Summary: After picking up the Death Note, Light receives a visit from Plot Device, Inc, and it all goes downhill from there –- at least, while gravity still works.
1. The First Chapter

Only You Can Save the World! – A Death Note fanfic

Hand trembling, he wrote another line of names. And another. And another. Then the pen dropped out of his hand and he sank back into his chair.

"Having fun?" said a voice in the back of the room.

Light whirled around. A man in a black suit stood by the window, holding an attaché case and walking forward.

"Who are you?" said Light, unsure. "How did you get in?"

"Plot Device," said the man.

"And which of the previous two questions were you answering?" said Light, suspicious.

The man suddenly became animated, slapping his forehead. "Ah, right. My mistake, my mistake. My name is Exposition. Plot Exposition. How do you do, sir?"

Light looked at the proffered hand as if it were something toxic and gingerly shook it. Exposition ignored his restraint and gripped his hand with a cliché vice-like description. Light mentally kicked himself for thinking such a cliché thing, but there it was: the man was cliché. Possibly the incarnation of cliché.

"So, Mr . . . Exposition . . . what exactly do you want?"

"That notebook you have there," he said, pointing, and Light unconsciously shifted his position to a protective stance, "practically glows with the power of Plot Device. My agents have told me it could well be a Class V MacGuffin. When things get this serious, they send out the heavy guns. Me."

"And . . . who is 'they?' " asked Light, trying to extract his hand.

"They are called–" he started, but was cut off by a harsh voice from the windowsill.

"Who the hell are you?" asked Ryuk.

"Ah, right on time," Exposition shot back, nonplussed. "Are you the angel, deity, demon, divinity, djinn, god, goddess, spirit, warlock, witch, wizard, or other supernatural figure in charge of this artifact?"

"Well, hold on, which kind of nonplussed?" asked L.

"What?" asked Exposition.

" 'Nonplussed' has two meanings. It can either mean '(of a person) surprised and confused so much that they are unsure how to react,' or 'informal (of a person) not disconcerted; unperturbed.' As you can see, they're both totally different from each other. So which is it?" L said, possibly raising an eyebrow.

"Well, look," said Exposition, not nonplussed in the second sense anymore but not yet nonplussed in the first sense, although he was headed there, "you can't just go breaking the fourth wall anytime you feel like it, firstly, and secondly, it's all about context. That's how we can tell the difference between 'fish' and 'king' in the language of ancient Crete."

"Hold on," said Light, "we don't know if that's the case. No one's actually translated that yet."

"Right," said L.

"I'm lost," said Ryuk, nonplussed.

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[The next scene contained a fire exit, an exorcist, radar jammers, the FBI, and a cameo by Darth Vader, but has had to be removed due to budget cuts.]

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"So let me get this straight," said Light, after some explanation, "You work for Plot Device Incorporated."

"Yes," said Exposition.

"Somehow they found out that I have this Death Note, and they sent you."

"Yes."

"And you strongly suspect I'm becoming a . . . what did you call it?"

"Protagonist."

"What does that mean?"

"Well, you look innocent enough, but I suspect that the mere fact that your MacGuffin kills people will set you up to become an anti-hero," Exposition said casually. "There's one easy enough way. We do a symbolism check."

"Care to explain?" asked Light.

"I would say it's my middle name, but it's actually my first and last," said Plot Exposition. "Basically, we look for motifs, easily recognizable symbols with universally acknowledged meanings, the like. Especially with the plot-important elements like the Death Note."

"Here," said Light, handing him the Note. Exposition didn't look like much of a threat, and this could be important for Light's future plans. Even so, he was somewhat nervous when the businessman was holding the notebook.

"I see," he said after about a minute of flipping pages and inspecting the binding. "You there, what do you call yourself?"

"I'm a Shinigami," said Ryuk.

"Well," Exposition said, eyes suddenly lighting up, "if the translators hadn't been afraid to use colloquial translations, that would render 'reaper.' "

"Wait, then why not have Ryuk dressed up in a cloak and carry a scythe so the audience can recognize him better?" asked Light.

"Careful! Don't break the fourth wall!" said Exposition.

"Sorry," said Light.

"Ah! I have the answer now," said Exposition. "Ryuk, what's your favorite food?"

"Apples, of course," said Ryuk.

"Wonderful!" cried Exposition. "Well, looks like you're headed for delusions of godhood, my friend! And your name, of course! Why didn't I see it before?"

Mr. Exposition seemed to go through phases of extreme joviality and excitability and then phases of serious businessman-ship.

"Is businessman-ship even a word?" asked L.

"Shut up!" said Light. "Language is fluid, I can make up whatever!"

Ryuk laughed.

"Really, L, you get enough screentime as is. Stop hogging the spotlight," said Exposition.

"But you just said not to break–" said Light, before he was cut off by Ryuk.

"Listen here, humans, I can kill you all with this notebook I have here, and I'm getting bored with all of this nonsense about breaking the fourth wall and grammar. I'm here to be entertained, so entertain me, dangit!"

"Right," said Exposition. "L, get back to your scenes."

And it happened.

"Much better," said Exposition. "Now, Light. You aren't good enough to be a protagonist."

"What!" exclaimed Light.

"Looks like the best you can do is eat potato chips and play tennis epicly," said Exposition.

"Is 'epicly' even a–"

"SHUT UP!" said Light, Ryuk, and Exposition.

"So as I was saying," said Exposition, "you need to get some special training."

"What, my impossible IQ isn't good enough?" Light sarcasmed.

"Stylistic device!" Exposition yelled at L.

"I wasn't going to say anything," said L. "I deduced it was a trap to draw me out. It was a 70% chance."

"You know what?" said Light. "You totally cheated. We don't meet for a while yet. You don't find out about the Note for longer still. So get out and act like you never saw any of this."

L would have apologized as he left, but there wasn't a chance to do so because Exposition chewed Light out again for breaking the fourth wall.

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MEANWHILE, AT INTERPOL HEADQUARTERS

"There have been fifty killings in the last week," said the president. "All of them were criminals with serious sentences and they all died of heart attacks."

"How are we supposed to track a murderer that leaves no trace and kills people seemingly with magic?" asked one of the group.

"Well, it's quite simple," said Watari, walking into the room. "We bring in L."

A shocked silence filled the room. Watari set up his little netbook . . . and L happened.

"What's this about happening?" asked L.

"What?" said the president of Interpol.

"What?" said Chief Yagami and Matsuda.

"What?" said the rest of the audience.

"Stop breaking the fourth wall," Watari hissed. "They don't understand."

"Oh," said L. "Never mind that then. So, on to business. I have deduced that Kira is a high school student in the Kanto region of Japan. I have also deduced that he has or will have delusions of godhood and a childish sense of morality."

"How did you deduce all of this?" asked Chief Yagami.

"I was in the room at the time," said L.

In the rafters, Mr. Exposition gestured at the screen.

"See what you're up against, Light? I told you that you need special training."

"Fine," said Light, trying not to plummet into the Interpol meeting. It would be awkward.

"There's a helicopter waiting for you on the roof," said Exposition.

"What, on the roof of Interpol Headquarters? The guys I'm trying to avoid? How does that work?" said Light.

"Plot Device," said Exposition, grinning.

"Well, I'll be nonplussed," said Light.

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"Well, that went well," said L. Watari stared at him.

"What?" asked L, his mouth already full.

"Well," Watari began, barely controlling his temper, "you were talking about random subjects, most of them not related to the conversation, you claimed to have been in the room and yet you don't know who Kira is, and now they're all convinced you're crazy."

"As I said, it went well," L shot back.

"What?" exclaimed Watari, flabbergasted.

"Well, it would be too easy if I told them it's Light Yagami, address such & such, etc."

"But . . . What you've given them will make it too easy anyways!"

"Hold it right there!" came a cry from the back of the room. L and Watari turned to look.

"The name's Exposition. Plot Exposition. How do you do, sir?"

Watari uncertainly shook Exposition's hand. L just stared.

"You're the guy from earlier. What do you want, Plot?" asked L.

"You look to me like you have good potential," said Exposition. "With work, you could be a sympathetic antagonist. Here's my card."

"Plot Exposition, Esquire," read L, "Department of Character Control, Department Head. Plot Device Incorporated. Well, Sir Exposition, you've got quite a title."

"Indeed," said Watari, frowning.

"That trench coat from earlier," said Exposition, "don't I know you from somewhere?"

"No," said Watari. "Definitely not."

"Hmm," said Exposition, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Back to the topic at hand," L said tiredly.

"Right, sorry," said Exposition.

"What exactly do you want, Mr. Exposition?" said L.

"Honestly, you aren't good enough to be an antagonist," Exposition said.

"What!" cried L and Watari at the same time.

"I mean, look," Exposition explained, "you've got 'quirky' down pat and your genius requires almost as much Plot Device as your opponent, but something's just missing. It seems like the best you can do is eat sugar cubes and play tennis epicly."

"We've gone over this," L said in a threatening tone of voice, " 'Epicly' is not a word!"

"Whatever," said Exposition. "I think you should go and train in one of our facilities. It'll be a two-week thing."

"Now, Ryuuzaki is perfectly competent," said Watari.

"You aren't Michael Cane, by any chance?" asked Exposition.

"I assure you, you don't know me!" exclaimed Watari, exasperated.

"Actually, he does kinda act like Michael Cane," said L.

"What? You too?" sighed Watari.

"Oh, might as well," said L.

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_Well, my loyal fans (or perhaps just "fans" . . . or perhaps just "readers" . . . ), I'm back. As you no doubt have noticed, this story is a great deal sillier than Hidden Faces. I will resume such a level of drama once I'm done with this one. Until then, laugh a bit to humor me. Now, this fic will end up as a crossover, so any Death Note purists who made it to the end without suffering seizures, puking up their entrails, or writing their own names in the Death Note can know to stop here. Until then, WRITE ME LOTS OF REVIEWS._

_I do not own the rights to Death Note or Michael Cane._

_-Gonzalez_


	2. Ode to a Potato Chip

Only You Can Save the World! – A Death Note fanfic

Light raised the potato chip up to his mouth, letting the light catch his teeth before viciously chomping down, throwing his head to the side like a crocodile and spraying crumbs across the room.

"Again!" cried his trainer. "You've got to be more photogenic! You think chip-eating comes _naturally_? Quality chip-eating takes years of practice! And you want to cram it all into a two-week session? I couldn't even teach you the basics of chip-eating in two weeks! Ah, my job gets harder every day. What are you staring at? Again, again!"

Light narrowed his eyes and turned back to the camera. He raised the chip to his mouth again, this time leaning over to keep his eyes out of the shot, and crunched down again, this time finding a fault point on the edge of the chip and making it shatter into a hundred pieces.

"What is this crap!" cried his trainer again. "Is the potato chip gonna injure you? Are you afraid of the potato chip? _Hi _(here he spoke in a high-pitched voice)_, I'm Light Yagami and I'm afraid of potato chips_. You think this is a support group or something? Again!"

Frustrated, Light whipped his arm across his face and bit in the opposite direction, utterly sundering the bits of chip from each other. Potato chip flew all over the desk, all over Light's suit, all over the piece of paper that was supposed to be his homework. His arm followed through, for the sake of the thing, and he bent his head, looking for all the world like a ninja having executed a complicated technique.

"Now, now, let's not get overconfident," said his trainer, but more calmly this time. "You've gotten the basics down, even though you have a long road ahead. Well, let's see how it looked on the slow-mo."

Further down the hall, unbeknownst to Light, L was sitting in a chair in his usual way, eating ice cream. Suddenly an alarm blared, and he dropped his spoon in surprise.

"NO!" shouted his trainer. "No no no no NO! What are you doing? You dropped that spoon like you didn't even care about it! You need to feel the spoon dropping! DROPPING! TO THE GROUND! You need to feel its pain! You gotta make them CRY, 'cause the spoon's so sad! MAKE 'EM CRY!"

L picked up the spoon again, grimacing, and kept eating his ice cream. His trainer flipped the switch and made the alarm go off again. Stiffening for a moment, L allowed the spoon to slip from his fingers and fall gently to the . . .

"No! Not sad enough!" cried the trainer. "Where did _you_ learn to drop spoons? Are you all self-taught? YOU THINK SPOON-DROPPING IS SOMETHING ANYONE CAN DO? My God, the kids they send in here these days are – what, are you picking up the spoon again? You trying for another time? I don't even know why I'm bothering to teach you. I should send you out to shiver and die in the cold. But I won't. You know why? BECAUSE IT WOULD BE AN INSULT TO SPOON-DROPPING!"

L tried to avoid the major drops of spittle.

"Well, I'm out of ice cream," he said.

"OH! WELL NOW! OUT OF ICE CREAM, ARE WE?" roared his trainer. "SPOON-DROPPING NOT INTERESTING ENOUGH FOR YOU, EH? Well, then, HAVE SOME CAKE!"

And only L's hours playing video games allowed him to react quickly enough to catch the bowl flung at him.

He stared at the cake. He suspected the cake was staring back. He carefully carved a piece of cake from the body, making sure to get a small bit of all the layers, then delicately placed it on his tongue. Then the alarm blared – he jerked back, allowing the spoon to drop, with a slight amount of torque, head-first into the carpet.

"WELL!" shouted his trainer. "All high and mighty now, EH? YOU THINK YOU'RE SO GOOD AT SPOON-DROPPING, EH?"

"Should I do it again?" asked L.

"Nah, you're good for today. Run along now. Same time tomorrow."

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"Plot Device is like a tiger. You ride it along the track, and it devours your enemies, but forget to feed it and it turns on you."

"Yes, sensei," said Light.

His eyes were closed, but he could feel his sensei's leather boots padding back and forth across the room. At the Plot Device Incorporated Special Protagonist/Antagonist Training Center (he had heard that they were planning to expand and move the Protagonists to a different location, and that, had he come later, he wouldn't have gotten the scenic Alpine view he was experiencing now), potential protagonists were trained by retired successful antagonists. Normally, custom called for anti-heroes like himself to be trained by anti-villains, but staff was a bit short at the current juncture and the man training him now was reportedly one of the best in the business.

"As an anti-hero, it's likely that you will experience the short end of Plot Device more than once. In fact, it will quite possibly be your undoing. But you must learn to rise above it."

"How, sensei, if my defeat is guaranteed?" asked Light.

"There is a technique known as a Xanatos Gambit. I will teach it to you when you are ready. As for now, we begin sparring practice."

Light stood up and took the sword that his sensei offered him. His sensei was a man with a slight build but murder in his eyes, which were green-blue and shaped like a cat's. His hair was waist-length and grey, the same color as his metal shoulder guards. He wore a black leather longcoat, open at the chest. While not particularly masculine, like some of the employees running around the Center, he looked like he would kill you without a second thought. In fact, the first thought along might have been the cause of death.

Light took a stance with his sword, a bamboo stick on a rubber hilt. His sensei held his sword loosely at his side. There was a pause as they looked at each other, waiting for the other to make a move. Light shifted his weight to his back leg and blacked out.

"You blinked," said his sensei, slapping him back into consciousness. Light immediately became aware of a large bruise across his chest. Breathing was like leaning over a hot grill.

"How the hell am I supposed to learn sword fighting from getting knocked out the first time I blink?" Light coughed.

"Move faster," said his sensei. "I'm a villain, after all."

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"Keep swinging," said L's sensei, a man wearing a trenchcoat with inkblots for a face. "Not trying hard enough."

L kept swinging, but his enigmatic sensei blocked every blow and then swept his legs out from under him with an admittedly cinematic kick.

"Aren't thinking," he growled, pointing his sword at L's throat.

L blinked, then rolled, swinging the bamboo sword at his sensei's feet, then whirling around to bring the sword around at head height. His sensei easily dodged both attacks and dealt a savage blow across L's chest.

"I think tactics are my strong suit," mumbled L.

"Tactics are absolute," said his sensei in his voice of gravel. "Tactics always apply. Even in brawling."

Afterwards, L sat on a cushion while his sensei taught.

"At Center, anti-heroes train potential anti-villains. Anti-villains need to be sympathetic. Learn that best in contrast with anti-heroes."

L nodded uncertainly. His sensei's strange manner of speaking was somewhat hard to follow, even if the basic ideas were clear.

"But often Plot Device helps. Thinking that learning Plot Device more useful use of time. Need sympathy for when tide goes other way."

He left out the articles and most pronouns. That was it.

"Need victory more than sympathy. So will teach you how to win."

That one was simple enough. L grinned.

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"And . . . go!"

Light's trainer drew back a curtain, behind which was a poster with a man's face and name. From the other side of the room, Light quickly bent over his paper and wrote the name on the poster, then slammed his pencil down and hit the buzzer on the desk.

"Two seconds," said his trainer, shaking his head in a disappointed manner. "If you were in a helicopter with your nemesis, he'd see you before you got halfway! C'mon, faster!"

A new poster. Light got it down to one and a half seconds.

"Better," said the trainer. "But nowhere near good enough. Wait – what's this?"

He held up the paper, then slammed it down on the desk and roared at Light: "A SPELLING ERROR? DO YOU _WANT_ TO GET CAUGHT AND DIE?"

"I'm sorry, but the poster is all the way across the room –"

"Damn right it's across the room!" shouted his trainer. "What if the news uses small text for the victim's name? What if you have to hide a mini-TV in a bag of potato chips? Are you gonna come crying to me, 'Help! Help! The name's too small!' "

"I'll do better next time," said Light, gritting his teeth.

And he did. No spelling errors, and a 1.4 second writing time.

"Blech!" yelled the trainer from over his shoulder. "You make me want to _puke_. You have the most uninteresting penmanship I've ever seen, and I used to clean out prep school recycling bins! Write with a passion! Write like you want to kill someone! Don't give me this (and here came the high-pitched voice again) _ah, ah, ah, my hand feels limp and I can't write interestingly!_ Show the paper who's boss! I want to see dents in the desk! Write, write, write!"

Light wrote the name again, recycling his ninja pose from the chip-eating session once he had finished.

"ANOTHER SPELLING ERROR!"

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L stacked another sugar cube on top of the others, taking care not to disturb the stack. He reached for another one, placing it on top of the pile, but accidentally knocking the whole thing over when he reached for another one.

"No!" shouted his trainer. "You lose all your ethos when you go and knock over the stack! Never knock it over again! Ever! And it was too perfect," he said, shaking his head remorsefully. "Don't ever make them line up. I want to see a bit of variety in the alignment, something that looks just as quirky as you do! Put some character into your sugar cube stacking!"

L was a man of nearly infinite patience, but he was running out quickly. He tried again, and on the thirty-first cube, his trainer shouted at him again, making him knowck the whole thing over again.

"No! No no no! It was aligned the same way as number sixteen! Redo it!"

"It wouldn't have balanced otherwise!" he shouted back.

"Well, you should've thought of that before you went and put number sixteen where you did, shouldn't you?" jeered the trainer.

L saw his sensei in the doorway and remembered his lesson from the day before. He suddenly knew how to pass the test.

"What's the matter, too high 'n' mighty for cube stacking, eh?" roared the trainer.

L grabbed his coffee mug and poured the hot coffee on his trainer, scalding him, then beat him to death with the mug.

"Good," said his sensei, nodding. "You win."

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"Well, the killings have all stopped. I guess we'll never know who Kira is," said Matsuda.

"Well, L is taking his time," said Aizawa.

"Perhaps Kira is waiting to see how to react?" said Mogi.

"Possibly," Chief Yagami offered. Perhaps Kira is biding his time, he thought. Perhaps he's taking a vacation. And maybe he's going to come back, more powerful than ever. But we'll see. We'll see.

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_The plot thickens! Join us for the next issue! Dancing bears! Jenova cells! L breaks the fourth wall! _

_The trainers, especially L's trainer, were both based on John Cleese's character in the Monty Python sketch called "Self-Defence." A Youtube search should be sufficient to find it._

_As always, please write reviews. If you have advice, or if you think anything at all while reading this, it's best just to write it down and hit the 'Submit' button. Ahem._

_-Gonzalez_


	3. Winter Wonderland

Only You Can Save the World! – A Death Note fanfic

"That'll be $3.50," said the college student behind the register.

"What is this?" asked L. "Opening the chapter with a purchase? What kind of moron is writing this?"

"Shut up, you malcontent!" yelled Plot Exposition. "Get back to your training from hell and stop griping about the medium! If you break the fourth wall again, I swear I'll sue you for damages!"

Meanwhile, Misa Amane, the college student behind the register, thought Exposition was yelling at her and was nonplussed.

"The first kind!" yelled Exposition again.

She felt for her cell phone, singular, as most college students can only afford and only have need for a singular cell phone, and began to dial for the police to inform them a madman was in the grocery store.

Exposition paid for the groceries, thanked her politely, and left. She watched him go carefully, then hit _Call_.

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"Lind L. Taylor?"

Lind rose from the couch and answered the door of his apartment.

"Yes?" he said, opening the door to reveal a man in a suit on his doorstep.

"Tell me, what are your crimes?" said the man.

"I told the last guy, I refuse to convert to Scientology," Lind blazed. "You guys are ridiculous and I'm not submitting to your filthy lies!"

He made to slam the door, but the man in the suit stopped it from moving an inch. He was surprisingly strong.

"I'm not a recruiter for Scientology. The name's Truss, Mr. John Truss. My friends call me Loose-Ends."

"And what does this have to do with Scientology?" said Taylor, still suspicious.

"It's a bloody good joke," said Loose-Ends, "makes 'em laugh every time."

"Hardly the best way to start a conversation," said Taylor wearily.

"We're talking about it now, eh?" said Loose-Ends, shaking a finger and grinning. "But enough about me – let's talk about you! A week ago, you appeared on national television, am I right? What what?"

Lind froze. The stress of it, the glaring stage lights, L's voice from before ringing in his ears, "If you don't die, you'll be pardoned." And then nothing happened. He'd almost had a heart attack without outside intervention.

"I see," said Loose-Ends. "Well, you'd better let me come inside, then."

Lind weakly opened the door wider and let the strange man come in. As he turned around to close the door, the man's hand came around with a chloroform-soaked rag and the world went black.

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Light looked at his schedule. During the last week and half, he had perfected techniques, honed his skills, built muscle tone, and gotten knocked out nearly thirty times in sparring practice. Once he had convinced his instructor to slow down to a speed visible to the human eye, he managed to parry a grand total of ten hits, although the third, fourth, seventh, and ninth had broken his arm and forced him to go and get healed.

But there was still a four-day period in which all that he learned would be tested, overseen by a new instructor (the Center didn't allow their old sensei the chance to lend a helping hand). Light was convinced the man was dancing mad.

"He he he he he he he he he he!" said the man in question right before Light's final test, hopping from one foot to the other. "Soon I'll destroy everything!"

"Some help you are, miserable clown," Light muttered.

"Regardless," said Kefka, and suddenly his painted face was deadly serious. "This test is based on the techniques your sensei taught you – in short, a moment from his past when all of his teachings were needed to overcome."

"Wait, were you just sane for a moment there?" asked Light.

"Nothing is sane!" snapped Kefka. "You're just as crazy as me! He he he he he he he he!"

"So how's it going to work?" Light asked wearily.

"This attaché case will send you into a dream state," said Kefka. "You'll run around doing stuff, except we'll give you some important tools first. Let me introduce you to your team."

"Good to see you, Light," said Sephiroth.

"He'll be helping me recreate the scenario from his memories," explained a college-age girl sitting in the corner. "I'm Ariadne. I'll be the Architect for this test. Department of Consciousness and Mental State Manipulation, Plot Device Incorporated."

Light shook her hand and turned to the two spiky-haired men who were quietly chatting and giving Sephiroth dirty looks.

"I'm Zack," said the dark-haired one. "I'll be your main opponent during the test. This is Cloud, and he'll be acting as my sidekick."

"Do I get a sidekick?" Light asked Kefka.

"We're all alone," laughed Kefka hysterically.

"Originally, I received messages via telepathy from Mother," said Sephiroth, stepping in. "Unfortunately, PDI hasn't been able to track down JENOVA's consciousness, so we're giving you a substitute. Here."

He handed Light a little radio device. A blue image of a woman sprang from it.

"Hey," it said. "My name's Cortana."

"I'm already annoyed," sniffed Light.

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Somewhere out in the wide void, a man sat on a throne, watching events transpire on a screen comparable with some skyscrapers. He wore a white suit and sported a neatly-trimmed white beard, and looked as if one of the Prophets had been thrust into modernity.

"No," was all he said.

And his word was Law.

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"Ready?" Cortana asked Light.

"Yes, alright already," he said. His eye twitched.

The device was activated and they all . . . went to sleep.

Light was standing in a field of snow. High mountain cliffs made travel only possible along one path. He could go forward, or he could go back. Neither way had any particular appeal.

"Okay, some vital information," said Sephiroth. "You'll be receiving in-mission objectives that you have to accomplish. If you fail them or you die, then you fail your course."

"That's harsh," said Light.

"Hardly. Now, equipment," he said, throwing a duffel bag onto Light's feet.

"What – what is this?" Light stammered, holding what appeared to be a crystal ball that had been painting red. His fingers tingled.

"That's a fire materia," said Sephiroth. "It does this."

He shoved it into his arm and blew a chunk out of the nearest cliff face. Light grinned maniacally.

"I could get to like this," Light laughed.

Sephiroth gazed at him coldly. "Don't end up like that clown."

"Er. Right. Sorry."

"Anyway, I have two very special gifts for you," Sephiroth continued. "The first is this training Masamune. It's not as heavy and they shortened it to five and a half feet. And the second is this little notebook."

"I've got a thing for notebooks," Light grinned.

"This notebook contains all of my greatest quotes," said Sephiroth. "Pull them off when it seems necessary."

"Alright!" said Light. The SPTC had impressed on him, as it did with most of its graduates, that looking good for the camera was even more important than succeeding with his role. In fact, they had a saying, _If at first you don't succeed, go down dramatically._

"I'll be watching," said Sephiroth, walking away.

"Wait, Sephiroth," said Light.

"Yes?" said Sephiroth without turning around.

"Which way do I go?"

"That's up to you, Light," he said, and walked away.

"Stupid Final Fantasy characters, always walking away in the middle of conversations and delivering their last lines with their back turned," he muttered. It was starting to get chilly. Nothing for it, he had to go forward.

"Alright, first you head to the village of Nibelheim," said a voice he recognized as Cortana's. But his radio device wasn't in the dream with him.

"You've got headphones on," she said. "You can hear me talking in the real world."

"Fine," said Light.

"Don't worry about speaking, I'm analyzing your brain waves directly," she said.

_She must have studied for years to get so annoying, _he thought. (And, as it turned out, PDI had a special program for bodiless voices which taught exactly that).

Light trudged through the snow, freezing in his suit, with the duffel bag on one shoulder and the unwieldy Masamune on the other. Soon he came to a mountain village, full of people. He saw Cloud and shrank back to cover.

"Never mind that," said Zack from behind him. "You just have to go to Shinra Mansion and start from the basement. This is all setup."

"Uh . . . thanks?" said Light.

"Go on, it's up the road and to the right," said Zack, boundlessly cheerful.

And so he began to take his final test, bickering with Cortana and getting lost in the mountain passes.

"Alright," she said finally. "Burn the village."

"Um . . . okay?" he said, caught off guard. He used three materia, and it was over.

"I'll never forgive you for this!" shouted Zack, at the other end of town.

"You totally tricked me," Light sighed to Cortana. "Now he's coming for me, isn't he."

"It's on the objective list, I swear," she said. "Now you need to go to the mako reactor. Turn left up at the fork. Oh, and you need to turn away epicly."

"We've had the 'epicly' conversation already," said L.

"SHUT UP!" said Zack, Cloud, Sephiroth, Kefka, Mr. Exposition, Cortana, and Light together.

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Meanwhile, in a testing room in the next hallway, L was dreaming that he was fighting a deconstructed Flash.

"So what were you trying to gain?" he asked carefully, after disengaging from a lock.

"We will have peace once more," said Ozymandias, who, in addition to being a deconstructed version of the Flash, also utilized Übermensch concepts to make a more compelling villain.

"So that's why you're going to kill those people," asked L, staring.

Ozymandias was a little unnerved by the stare. "Well, to tell you the truth, I already did. Did you think you'd change anything with last-ditch heroics? I started the process thirty-five minutes ago."

This seemed to regain him his composure.

"Nah," said L. "I predicted you would, so I cut your power."

"You fiend!"

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"They're too fast," said Light, panting against the door of the mako reactor. "Let's face it, I'm not an action hero."

"Well, you have to grab the head and go, so get moving," said Cortana.

"Grab what?" asked Light, wiping his face.

"JENOVA's head. You have to cut it off."

"Then do what?"

"How should I know? Sephiroth only got to the 'grab the head' part."

"You're telling me that my sensei, who I haven't been able to beat, was never able to complete the test that determines whether or not I pass?"

Cortana sighed. "Just grab the head."

"It's a bloody head! Why?"

"It's not bloody, don't worry."

"You _know_ what I mean!"

Light was running up the stairs when he heard Zack's massive sword cut through the door. He watched as Zack started to feel around for the handle and quickly ran into the next room and closed that door, too.

"Is that JENOVA over there?" he asked, straightening his tie.

"Yeah, inasmuch as I can tell from your brain."

"If you can't be helpful, _shut the frick up_."

"Temper, temper."

Light looked around the room for things to scavenge or give him an advantage in some way.

"Where's the hole in the floor go?" he asked.

"Down into the reactor. It's a horrible, painful death."

"So I'm trapped in here."

"Pretty much, yeah."

"What happened to Sephiroth?"

"Cloud tossed him into the reactor."

"_Tossed_ . . . ?"

"Tossed. Sephiroth had impaled him and he used the sword for leverage."

"So how am I supposed to win against that sort of crap? Normally, people don't throw you down bottomless pits when you stab them!"

"Beats me," said Cortana.

"Well, the scenario's skewed, there's nothing I can use in the room, Zack and Cloud are probably right outside this door, and they both fight better than I can. Oh, and they're trying to kill me."

"Having fun yet?"

"I told you to shut up!" Light yelled, leaning against the wall.

The scenario was contrived. It was completely unfair.

The scenario.

"Who were those people in the village?" he asked gloomily.

"What?"

"I'm curious. What were they?"

"Projections of Sephiroth's subconscious. Why?"

"Oh, it's over and I might as well learn more while I still can," said Light. But he was smiling that devil's smile.

"Bloody hell. You're going to do _what?_"

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Darkness gave way to light.

Lind L. Taylor sat up. He was in a dark room, with a single lamp above his head.

. . . And was this an operating table?

"Please, don't struggle, sir," said one of the doctors. "This operation is demanded by Plot Device."

Lind had time enough for one strangled cry as they put him out again.

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_Running commentary:_

_I had given up trying to force the reader to guess which expy's I threw in. There were a heck of a lot this chapter. So now you get names. Aren't you lucky?_

_It also turns out that there's a bunch of cliff-hanger-y stuff going on. It might make subsequent chapters better. Or it might just annoy the crap out of you. If you're the type to look for other literary devices, look for foreshadowing and metaphors. Because that's about all I can do._

_And lastly, let me remind you that reviews make it possible for the vulgar populace to sit around reading all this stuff on their computers. It takes five minutes to read, but it could take a week to write properly. So taking a little time to read critically and give us some feedback is actually a good use of time._

_-Gonzalez._


	4. Memories

Only You Can Save the World! – A Death Note fanfic

Memory.

What a strange concept.

To relive past experiences, to recall times past and far-gone – they certainly didn't exist anymore in reality after they had happened. It was the human mind that shaped and reshaped its experiences, gave substance to but a shadow. Nothing in nature was so strange. Nothing so sinister.

The man remembered a time when he had made an enemy. It had been an easy choice, and with devastating consequences.

"It's quite simple," said his enemy. "Will you do it?"

"No," he had replied. "Some things aren't that simple."

"Then you'd better watch out," said his enemy, and left him to brood.

The police had refused him protective custody. Was it because they were corrupt, bribed by the crime syndicates that were after him?

There was no option left. He wasn't familiar enough with the gangs to throw himself on the mercy of a rival. Besides, it was more than likely that they would kill him as a goodwill offering.

So he got himself arrested for jaywalking. It solved his problem. Beforehand, he had liquidated his assets and left them in a secure facility to retrieve on his return. He would be able to escape.

But luck was against him. Somehow, in an act of ultimate corruption, the judge sentenced him to death. For jaywalking.

Lind L. Taylor was led back to his cell, nonplussed.

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Light sat down with his food at the SPTC mess hall. He stared at his food for a moment, remembering L's comment, "you don't need to get fat if you use your head."

It was no use. The food looked the same as ever.

"Tired?" said a pale teenager across the table. Light's stomach twisted at his condescending tone.

They stared at each other for a few moments.

"Don't try it," they both said at once. A condescending smirk spread across both of their faces, and they shook hands.

"I'm Artemis," said the kid.

"Light," responded Light.

Both being incredibly talented, arrogant geniuses, they hit it off rather well (that is, they acknowledged each other as significant opponents).

"I eventually found that mirrored lenses were an adequate solution," Artemis continued. Light had a natural tendency toward silence and secrecy, while Artemis seemed able to monologue about his plans at length. One unfortunate side effect was that Artemis could eventually learn the Power of Friendship and become redeemable, whereas Light could only win or die.

"What effect does this _mesmer_ have on the subconscious?" asked Light, eager to keep him talking. "If it can influence behavior in such a way?"

"The subconscious, as its name might suggest, is below the stream of conscious thought. One cannot control it; rather, it provides suggestions and helps to maneuver the flow of decision-making by drawing links between stimuli otherwise unnoticed by the conscious mind. In fact, I once used this to manipulate . . . "

_No, Artemis, I don't want to hear about your exploits with the fairies in Taiwan,_ thought Light. _You can be useful to me, so I'll let you talk. But kiss your 'top genius' status goodbye. You got _played.

"And that was it?" asked Cortana, back in the mako reactor, as Light brought up everything he could from his memories. "And your solution is to–?"

"Shut up!" he yelled, running to Jenova's head and cutting it off. Cloud and Zack were certainly at the door now.

"It had better work. Or else I lose."

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"Do you want to come out?" said the strange man outside the bars.

Lind looked up tiredly.

"I ran away," he croaked. "And they sent me here. I can't run anymore."

The man with the weird hair and the bags under his eyes cast a piercing gaze on the pathetic heap, sitting in a chair in the corner of his cell.

"Your execution date is in five days," he said, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're just waiting for the end."

Lind didn't bother to respond. It was true.

"My name is L," said the strange man. "If you do a small act for me, then I'll be able to relocate you and help you restart your life."

"Is it worth it?" asked Lind, interested in spite of himself.

"The alternative is to die by the executioner's hand. Painful, especially if the execution goes wrong. Electric chair? Sometimes they miss the voltage. A painful shock that doesn't kill you. Maybe it sets your head on fire."

"It's no use," said Lind. "I'm resigned."

"Have you got a coin?" asked L of one of the guards. They presented him with a nickel.

"Tell you what," said L. "I'm going to flip this coin. Heads, you stay here and die in five days. Tails, you come with me and perform for the good of humanity, and if you don't die, then I make you untouchable and your record is wiped clean."

"I still might die with your method?" asked Lind.

"It's a 70% chance," said L. "But you were prepared to accept that before I told you."

That was also true.

"Don't flip it," said Lind. "I'll do your act."

"Good," said L, "because after going through all the trouble to give guard a rigged coin, I wasn't feeling up to hiding the con."

"You bastard," said Lind, laughing weakly.

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Zack and Cloud were positioned outside the last door.

"Give him another two minutes?" asked Zack.

"Sure," said Cloud. "It's still not fair."

"Well, oftentimes these guys will come in that aren't the action type and they barely scrape by on the tests," Zack said, putting down his sword and leaning against the wall. "I think Sephiroth wasn't a good choice for this guy in any case. All he can do is hit things."

"I resent that comment," said Sephiroth, descending from the ceiling.

"Hey," said Cloud. "Did you give him any hints?"

"I gave him a notebook full of quotes," said Sephiroth. "Oh, and a duffel bag full of materia. And a giant katana."

"Like he could use that thing," snorted Zack.

"I was actually waiting to see how quickly he ditched it," said Sephiroth, smirking.

"Hilarious," said Cloud. "Now, he's obviously not coming out, so I think he's waiting for us to come it. He's got a trap or something."

"Well?" Sephiroth asked the ceiling.

"I didn't put anything useable in there," said Ariadne from above. "He could be stalling to come up with a plan."

"Well, I mean, it's two on one," said Sephiroth. "If he learned anything from me at all, then he's definitely trying to rework the odds."

"As I said, it isn't fair," said Cloud. "We fought you one at a time, and I wasn't thinking straight, and who knows what the heck Zack was thinking."

"Woah there," said Zack. "Let's also not forget that Sephiroth was totally bonkers."

"Well, that didn't matter, did it?" said Sephiroth, frowning. "You stabbed me in the back."

"Shoulda been paying attention, friend," said Zack, leaning back and run a hand through his hair.

"Oh, screw it," said Cloud, and swung his sword at the door, rending it completely in two. He charged in. Zack winked at Sephiroth and ran in after Cloud.

Sephiroth chuckled.

"It's my dream," he said. "My world."

Inside, Zack and Cloud slashed at Light repeatedly, mercilessly. This is because there were hundreds of him. The clones' combat skills were ineffectual, seeing as they were unarmed, but Zack and Cloud couldn't fight them all. They were overwhelmed, pushed back to the door, which Sephiroth had put back together.

And then it was over. There were no more Light Yagamis. There was a lot of bloody mess.

"He was supposed to get that head, right?" asked Zack. "It's definitely disconnected. But I don't see it here."

"Did he pull a Sephy?" asked Cloud.

"Shh, Sephy can probably hear you through the door. There's a ledge down below, if I recall correctly," said Zack, walking over to look. "Oh, I guess not. Sephiroth must have taken that out."

"So is it over?" asked Cloud.

"You have to learn to stay focused," said Light, standing in a hole in the wall up above.

"He used the materia to bore a hole in the wall!" shouted Zack. "After him!"

"Stop," said Sephiroth. And he blew up the mako reactor.

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"Ah, Miss Amane," said Plot Exposition, sitting down at her café table. "Waiting for someone?"

"You're the crazy guy from the grocery the other day," she said.

"I'm not going to argue craziness, which is the only sane way to win such an argument," he responded. "Instead, allow me to talk to you about your future."

"Allow me to call the cops again," she said, rolling her eyes.

"Here," said Exposition. He snapped his fingers, and Misa was on a movie set.

"Welcome to the world where Misa Amane is a famous idol."

Her jaw sagged.

"All you have to do is sign," he said, and they were back at the café table.

"Why?" she asked, suddenly suspicious.

"For the sake of a love story," he said, lying just a little, "and, more importantly, because Plot Device demands it."

Whether or not she thought Plot Device was more important, she signed.

And instantly she was wearing the latest fashion.

"This is great!" she said. Her voice had gotten about thirty times more annoying, and the intelligence in her eyes had been greatly subdued.

"So how'd that work, anyways?" she asked.

"Plot Device," said Exposition, grinning. "After you signed that paper, you retroactively had always been an idol. No loose ends."

"That doesn't really make sense, but okay!" she said cheerfully.

"Wonderful. Now, your intelligence really belongs to your other past, so you'll find it slipping away as time goes on . . . "

"That's fine. I'm sure I'll be very happy!"

And thus do mortals lose their souls to fell contracts.

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"– the hell?" said Light, sitting up.

"Congrats, kid, you passed," said Zach, offering his hand. "We generally leave it up to your sensei to determine when you pass."

"The odds were against you," said Sephiroth. "I figured you'd come up with that."

"What, you predicted I'd abuse the actual dream technology to come up with an army of projections of my subconscious?"

"Yes."

Zack rolled his eyes. "He thinks on a higher plane then us mortals, nowadays."

Light rubbed his forehead.

"I think there's only been one non-action hero to beat this test so far," said Cloud. "Football guy. His hair was crazier than mine."

"How'd he do it?" asked Light.

"Pretty much the same trick you used," he said, rubbing his shoulder in memory of a distant wound. "Except they were all in tanks."

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"Tell me, how do you feel?" asked Plot Exposition.

Lind L. Taylor sat looking out the window, legs crossed and arms slack on the armrests. He was wearing his suit again, although the shirt was open as the nurse tended to his bandages.

"You could have warned me," he said.

"Of course, but would you have listened?"

"I can tell myself that now, but perhaps I wouldn't," Lind sighed, flinching at the pressure from the new bandage.

"Don't worry about the pain. It goes away eventually," said Plot Exposition.

Lind tilted his head slightly and narrowed his eyes.

"Come, come, I didn't mean to cause offense," said Exposition. "You know, according to the measurements we took, you were supposed to die on the program."

"I'm not dead."

"Obviously. But if not for our interference, you would be dead. As I said, you were _supposed_ to die."

"Supposed to?" asked Lind, raising an eyebrow. "I don't believe in God. Or fate."

"I don't either," said Exposition, "but there are some things higher than mere divinity. I speak of Plot Device."

"Isn't that just for stories?" asked Lind.

"Have you ever heard of narrative causality? All of human action is decided by something PDI experts call, 'The Story.' We like happy endings because we believe that's how it's supposed to go. All plays, books, movies, folk tales, even, are supposed to reflect our reality. Have you ever heard a story that is completely incomprehensible to humanity? Of course not, it's narratively impossible."

"You lost me there," said Lind.

"We are drawn to stories because the story-telling impulse is the core of our being. Language is our soul. Action is our soul. That's why it's important to look good for the cameras. Here at PDI, we work tirelessly to preserve the Story, in order to protect humanity itself."

"So . . . then Plot Device is –"

"Yes. Plot Device is where the Story interferes in normal causality. Even if totally unknowable, it controls our actions."

"You just said you didn't believe in fate."

"No, I don't. Without free will, there could be no Story. Our decisions are of paramount importance to the Story. But sometimes our freedom to choose endangers the Story, and that's where PDI steps in."

"How do you know what would protect the Story?"

"Our leader. We call him the Playwright."

"Well, this is all very interesting," said Lind, adjusting his tie, "but what does it have to do kidnapping me for emergency surgery?"

"As I mentioned before, the Story demanded your ejection from the tale. We had to modify your body in order to survive post-ejection. But now that you are here, you can't go back."

"So now I'm soulless. I have no chance of participating in the Story, right?"

"Oh, you're so wrong. It all began with the Playwright, you see. He found that a great enough storyteller could gain power over the Story, at the expense of his right to be in it."

"To control the soul of humanity . . . " mused Lind, thoughtful.

"You're exactly right," grinned Plot Exposition. "That is the power of the Playwright. That is the power of Plot Device."

"You were once in my place," said Lind. "You underwent this surgery, didn't you?"

"Yes," said Exposition. "Originally, I was what we term a secondary character, but intervention on the part of PDI prevented my death, much in the same way you were spared. I underwent emergency surgery, as you did, and eventually I was granted the title of Plot Exposition. It's very prestigious among us."

"What was your name before" asked Lind.

"Boromir, I think. Boromir of Gondor. Yes, I remember now. That was it."

"So what do I do now?"

"You're going to meet the Playwright."

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_Things start to pick up! Excitement!_

_The 'football guy' mentioned is, of course, Youichi Hiruma (.org/wiki/Yoichi_Hiruma). Anyone who knows about him shouldn't be surprised that he beat Sephiroth's test, or that his subconscious is armed to the teeth._

_Isn't Sean Bean perfect for the role of Mr. Exposition? I would have made it Hugo Weaving (Agent Smith), but that interferes with an upcoming scene - *clamps mouth*_

_-Gonzalez_


	5. The Council of Elrond Again

Only You Can Save the World! – a Death Note fanfic

"Come, friends, come," said the man at the front of the room. Staff members of Plot Device, Inc. and recent graduates of their programs gathered and took seats.

"Hello, Light," said L, sitting down next to Light and Plot Exposition.

"You were here too, huh?" asked Light.

"Of course. I wasn't a worthy opponent, apparently," said L.

"Welcome to you both," said Plot Exposition. "May I introduce Lind L. Taylor?"

Lind offered his hand and they both shook.

"You took him from our universe, if you recall," said L.

"Ah, of course," said Plot Exposition. "I've forgotten. How silly of me."

"So what brings Lind L. Taylor to the Council?" asked Light.

"He's joining my department," said Exposition. "You were supposed to have killed him, I think, Light."

"But I was up here, wasn't I?" said Light. "Looks like you lucked out, Lind."

"Thank you," said Lind, nonplussed.

The entire Council turned and glared at L.

"I . . . I wasn't going to say anything," he stammered.

"Attention! Your attention, if you please!" said the man at the front of the room.

"Who's he?" whispered Light to Exposition.

"That's Elrond. His job is to preside over councils. He's very good at it."

"Does he do anything else?"

"Unfortunately, no. You see, he's only effective in flashbacks."

"Attention!" snapped Elrond, glaring at Exposition and Light. "Now, to business. The Enemy has been found."

Murmurs filled the chamber.

"For those new to us, I will explain. For many years, we have functioned under the just guidance of the Playwright. He has allowed PDI to operate as effectively and efficiently as possible."

Lind remembered his time in the grand audience chamber. The Playwright sat in a white suit and a matching white beard, looking for all the world like a Prophet brought into modernity. He had spoken only a few words, but those words were poetry, were music. It was an awe-inspiring memory.

"But he has been opposed by the Enemy for as long as Plot Device, Incorporated has operated. His Enforcers have hunted and killed our agents and damaged the Story as a whole. And he has hidden like a coward for as long as we have searched for him."

Light and L had caught bits and pieces of this in their training, and were not totally surprised. But they were still surprised.

"But last week, one of our operatives found his location and it took all of his skill with Plot Device to escape safely. I'm sure you're all aware that the use of Plot Device becomes more difficult as one approaches the enemy's stronghold. So we must be thankful that Rising Action came back to us in order to share the information he gained. Sadly, he died of his injuries this morning."

There were more murmurs in the hall.

"Rising Action!" exclaimed Exposition. "He's the Playwright's right-hand man. They said he'd been with PDI ever since its creation."

"And they got him?" asked Light.

"Looks like it," said Exposition. "Of course, knowing PDI, they might just be pretending he died. It's more dramatic that way."

"Check the Database," said Lind.

"Good idea," said Exposition.

He brought up a laptop.

"Okay, how did he die?" said Exposition.

"Sounds like a Heroic Sacrifice," said Lind.

"Has the Council decided yet what genre real life is?" asked Exposition.

"What?" said Elrond. Then he noticed the laptops that had been taken out all over the room. "You're all trying to figure out if he's really dead? Oh, for the love of – "

"I'll take it from here," said the other man at the podium, the Department Head. "Firstly, even if he were alive, which he isn't, he would be too weak to fight."

No one believed him for an instant. It was common knowledge at PDI that injured combatants were often the most effective. Many operatives went through the trouble to get themselves injured before beginning fights.

"Secondly, it's not the issue at hand. We'll be leaving Mr. Action out of our calculations in the meantime. Now, to begin, what's our best plan of attack?"

"We need a total gamble," said Elrond. "A surefire plan will fail completely."

"Yeah, he's right," said nearly everyone in the room.

"It should be a million-to-one chance," volunteered a man a few seats over from Light, and was met with shouts of approval.

"But the odds are completely against us in a million-to-one scenario," said the Department Head. He was stating the obvious, but it needed to be said.

"It would be better to come up with a clever scheme and then have someone narrate it while we carry it out," said another person in the audience.

"No, that won't work," said Elrond. "If we know what the plan it, it's 100% sure to fail. The only way we could pull it off is to come up with a plan and then flash-forward over our planned response to the predicted counterplan. But we can't pull a flash-forward in the enemy's base."

"What's he talking about?" said Light.

"There are two very powerful forms of time-related Plot Device," said Exposition. "There's the flashback and the flash-forward. They allow us to avoid some Information Paradigms by warping the moment plot-critical information is revealed."

"Say that again in English," said Light.

"Information Paradigms are our greatest strength and our greatest weakness," said Exposition. "They dictate the flow of events in the Story. We use them to generate Plot Device, although they also inhibit Plot Device. They just keep coming, too. Ever since the introduction of Plot Device, several Paradigms have sprung up related to the use of Plot Device. We have an entire library – the Database – dedicated to compiling and analyzing these Paradigms. It's truly a fascinating subject. In any case, we counter Information Paradigms – the technical term is 'subversion' – by rearranging the flow of events. The only downside is that it requires two points: the Sender and the Receiver. If we want to try a flash-forward, we'd need a Sender set up here and we'd need to set up a Receiver at the end point – our attack. But the Receiver would have too much trouble at the Enemy's base."

"I see," said Light. "Couldn't we try for a dramatic night-before-the-charge speech and set up the Receiver beforehand?"

"That just might work," breathed Exposition, and he stood up.

"Might we try placing a Receiver right before a rousing pre-battle speech?" he asked, to general agreement.

"Excellent idea, Exposition," said Elrond. "Now, who should give the speech?"

"We need a Hero of Destiny," said the Department Head.

Several audience members stood up and walked toward the front. When they reached the podium, Light saw Sephiroth gracefully descend in a swirl of black feathers. Then there was a flash of light, and a teenage boy dressed in a green tunic appeared in front of them all, hand glowing with a sigil composed of three triangles.

"I said _a_ Hero of Destiny," said the Department Head. "Anyone who is not strictly mentioned in a prophecy go back to your seat."

They were left with Sephiroth, an expressionless man in black, a black-caped man wearing a fearsome plastic helmet and breathing through a ventilator, and the kid in green.

"Hold on, Vader, they weren't sure if it was you or your kid who was mentioned in the prophecy," said Elrond.

"I will not tolerate such weakness," said the black-caped man. "The way I left things, there were two Jedi and two Sith. I call that balance."

"Fine, have things your way," said Elrond, and then scowled at the expressionless man. "And what about you, Neo? Your prophecy was completely contrived."

"I'm up here because I choose to be," said Neo.

"Oh, shut your face," said Elrond. "If I hear about choices any more, I'm going to start cloning myself again."

"I'm talking about choice because I choose to," said Neo.

The Department Head stepped smartly between Elrond and Neo.

"Well, then it seems we have a dilemma. There's nothing for it but the Combat Room."

Everyone began to stand up and file through a door in the back of the room.

"What's going on?" said Light, who was on the far side of the room and would not be able to move for a while yet.

"Oh, the way things go around here, it's pretty logical," said Exposition. "Basically, we need a Hero of Destiny because he's undefeatable. Stands to reason. So we need to figure which of the Heroes of Destiny that we actually have working for us is the undefeatable one."

"That's ridiculous," said Light. "And what about Sephiroth? He's not a Hero of Destiny. Why didn't Elrond get on his case about not being mentioned in a prophecy?"

"You should know that by know," said Exposition. "No one messes with Sephiroth."

"Oh."

Meanwhile, Sephiroth, Neo, Darth Vader, and Link were all preparing for the upcoming four-way duel. Well, Sephiroth, Neo, and Darth Vader were all standing in their corners, expressionless, while Link was making sure he had his full capacity of arrows and bombs. Light and L took their seats in the West Viewing Chamber, behind a clear glass window reinforced with Plot Device.

"In the North Corner, Link, the Hero of Time," said Elrond, speaking not like a sports announcer but like someone doing the opening narration of a movie. "In the East Corner, Neo, the Chosen One. In the South Corner, Sephiroth, the hero of SOLDIER. And in the West, Anakin Skywalker, AKA Darth Vader, AKA the Emperor's Right Hand, AKA also The Chosen One."

"30% chance," L mumbled to himself, but exactly who he thought had the 30% chance he didn't mention.

"This match will decide who fights the dread Enemy and the fate of the free people," he said, before Sephiroth cut him off.

"You're in the wrong story," he said.

"Then . . . go!" said Elrond.

Link drew his sword with a short grunt. Neo took a fluid marital arts stance, using his fingers to do a "come at me" gesture. Sephiroth let his black wing unfurl, took a stance with his overly long katana and said, simply, "Taste the blade of a hero." Darth Vader activated his lightsaber, and immediately the chamber was in an uproar over whether or not the sound was indeed a "snap-hiss."

The four combatants looked from side to side. Darth Vader moved first, throwing a Force push at Neo. Neo caught and returned it, forcing Darth Vader to throw it back.

Link and Sephiroth ran at each other, clashing in the middle before having the dodge the Force push coming from Neo's side again. Sephiroth only parried Link's blows before the Force push bounced back from Darth Vader, at which point he deflected it off his sword and hit Link in the chest with it. Darth Vader charged and Sephiroth parried from behind his back, twisting and sweeping Darth Vader off his feet.

Link reached into his pockets and pulled out three bombs. Each of the fuses lit immediately, though exactly how no one could say. Sephiroth flicked out with the Masamune in passing and cut the tips of the fuses off, seemingly without sparing any attention to him. Link only had enough time to grab his shield and sword before Neo came in with a brutal onslaught and forced him on defense.

Darth Vader gripped Sephiroth with the Force and held him in the air, constricting his throat. Sephiroth smiled and threw a beam of energy from his sword at Vader's chest, disrupting his concentration and giving Sephiroth an opportunity to swoop in and lift Vader by the throat. Vader struggled for a moment, and Sephiroth threw him down to earth again, standing in midair and watching the fight below.

Neo palmed Link's shield, sending him flying back, and stepped over for the kill. However, Darth Vader landed on him before he could do anything. He shoved Vader off and grabbed the Master Sword, taking off into the air. Sephiroth, as before, only parried his blows and gave no ground.

Link, meanwhile, had gotten his bow out and was firing arrow after arrow at Darth Vader. Vader blocked them all with his hand. Link charged up a light arrow and fired. Vader grabbed it with the Force and sent it right back, shrinking Link into a little speck of light until he exploded.

Sephiroth saw Link's demise below and unleashed a devastating combo on Neo. Neo fell in pieces back to the ground, which prompted Vader to look up right as the Master Sword, Neo's left hand still attached, lodged itself in his skull.

"And that means Sephiroth is our chosen hero!" said Elrond.

"Now!" said Exposition. The Sender had been setting up his equipment on the combat field during the battle, and at Exposition's command he pressed the big red button on his equipment.

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_A little bit of writing theory for the wannabe author: I wanted to do this chapter all in one section. As everything starts to come together, as a general rule, you want there to be less interruptions and get the reader more interested in what you present, as opposed to forcing them to make connections, like in the fractured storytelling form I used earlier. Unfortunately, this means that the next chapter or the one after that will be the end for this fic, meaning I'm not going to make my goal of equalling Hidden Faces (~15,000 words). However, I'm opting to keep things at the current pace instead of slowing them down tremendously, like, say, the last twenty chapters of Death Note._

_Speaking of which, in case you were wondering why I'm still even pretending that this is a Death Note fic, stay tuned._

_Oh, and my apologies to any tropers who read this fic. Guess what the Database is?_

_-Gonzalez_


	6. Victory

Only You Can Save the World! – A Death Note fanfic

It could be said that the members of Plot Device, Inc. were quite genre savvy. They knew exactly how to die dramatically and when it was good to do so. They knew what a happy ending looked like and how to spot a traitor a mile off.

But, Light found, there were parts of their training that ignored the _good, old fashioned common sense_ of practical application. It's all well and good arguing over the best manner in which to come up with a plan without actually realizing it, but they made several key mistakes in the actual _coming up with a plan_ part. That's why all of them died.

Coming up with a strategy to defeat the Enemy who _nullified their only weapon _would be considered top tactical priority by most tacticians. But the members of PDI, God rest their souls, knew better than that. Any plan would work, they said confidently. Make it a million-to-one chance that could never possibly work, just so it has a greater chance of succeeding. "A million to one chance would never work," the Department Head had declared so obviously, not because he had believed it, but because it needed to be said! The plan was immaterial. No, what mattered was the method with which they came up with the plan in the first place.

That was their first mistake. Assuming life was really governed by their Information Paradigms, they had averted coming up with a workable plan in order to discuss a plan for creating a plan. And the flashback was their solution of choice. Shouts of joy. Cheers. Flowers thrown happily in the air.

_None of you poor bastards ever realized you were so confidently revealing your plan to come up with a plan,_ thought Light, surveying the battlefield. _And, under your own logic, it therefore failed. Well done._

And that was what caused their second mistake. They hadn't had the time to assemble before the battle. Their Enemy was a pragmatist and attacked while they were still trying to figure out their rows. The Sender, may he rest in peace, had quickly seen the necessity of setting up the Receiver and managed to do so before his throat was ripped out but a stray bullet. Otherwise, their consciousnesses might have been lost in the time-slip between the meeting and the battle. Unfortunately, with no one to operate the equipment, the time-slip had closed and none of the time between the meeting and the battle existed anymore. Meaning there was no battle plan to hide from the Information Paradigms. Furthermore, Light was irretrievably lost on this battlefield with no memory of having gotten there, because there was no point at which he had been transitioning between the two places. Even his knowledge that this had happened had been shouted to Plot Exposition—probably dead now—and not actually experienced.

But their third mistake was worse than either of the others. They had been assuming life was a comedy—that there were happy endings, that things worked out okay in the end—and acted accordingly.

Life is a tragedy.

There really wasn't any other way to think about it. Ultimately, everyone is the hero of their own stories, and, try as they might, they die by its conclusion. Indeed, their death _is_ its conclusion. The PDI army had forgotten that for every winner, there is a loser, and every glorious victory left one or more armies defeated. In short, they forgot the hero could lose.

By this point, Light was becoming increasingly aware that the protagonist could suffer crushing defeat.

The battlefield was, was, was strewn with corpses. Light couldn't find a non-clichéd phrase in his vocabulary to describe the carnage, probably in a state of shock and currently being dragged off the field by uncompromising soldiers in the service of a master far more realistic than any Playwright. There had been a few survivors, mostly the more recent recruits, and all of them were being dragged off with Light. Light found himself wishing L had survived.

He saw Sephiroth's katana lying on the ground, broken in two places.

_"You should have learned by now. No one messes with Sephiroth."_

Sephiroth had unfurled his wing and taken to the sky. Completely off-balance, he plummeted just as quickly. Even as he chillingly declared that he would return, an enemy soldier—with no respect for drama, apparently—set him afire and let him burn. However the Jenova gene-splicing worked, it conflicted with real life, and at that point ceased to exist. Sephiroth died free of the force that had driven him mad.

_Even Sephiroth learned,_ thought Light. _No one messes with gravity._

Stupid, worthless! He had allowed himself to get swept into this self-righteous holy war without looking to his own ideologies, and now he was being dragged off probably to some horrifyingly efficient dungeon to rot for the rest of eternity.

_'A protagonist is not a good person,'_ he recalled one of his lecturers proclaiming. _'A good person may be a protagonist, but absolute notions to that effect are childish and dogmatic.'_

Why not admit it? He had jumped at the opportunity to allow himself to be a Good Person, forgetting his earlier conclusion that good and evil were relative terms invented by the weak-minded. The word "weak-minded" was uncomfortable and awkward on his mental equivalent of a tongue, where before it had surfaced with regularity. The SPTC had taught him to be ruthless. Cold-blooded. Photogenic. And he had still learned the feeling of a group, of acceptance, and went along with it against what, if he had even thought about it, would have been his better judgement, because _it felt so damned good_.

Well, that mistake would likely never happen again, headed as he was into the halls of that feeling's Enemy. Ah, yes. Light was still that much of a loner that he had managed to ignore that two muscular men were dragging him, hands tied, into a paddy wagon and driving off to their lair. He noticed L and Lind L. Taylor in the confusion, both their faces blank.

Well, nothing for it but to get dragged off. Perhaps something would come up. In the meantime, Light was tired and pissed off and wanted to nap. So he did.

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The first thing Light noticed when he woke up was that he was chained to the wall. This was to be expected.

The second thing he noticed was L's face across the room. L was staring at him. This was, given the circumstance, also to be expected.

"You're awake," said L. How the hell was he supposed to respond to that?

"Do you have a clever plan to get out?" asked Light instead.

"I have one with a 30% chance of success," said L.

"Good. Then shut up until we get out."

"But you need to know the plan for it to work . . . " muttered L. "Five percent now."

Light closed his eyes and thought. Trapped in a cell with the most annoying person possible under the circumstances, stuck on one side of a war of ideologies when he would prefer to defect, and no way to convince the people holding him prison of any of this. Sephiroth had not taught him how to break out of prisons, and he had not learned anything to that extent in his regular classes either. He had passed his final test by exploiting a loophole instead of learning lateral thinking, which they hadn't taught him either. In any case, there was nothing besides his fellow prisoner and his chains within the cell and his guards were likely versed in all the tricks Plot Device, Inc. agents used with more effectiveness than Light could with his novice's clumsiness.

Light was arrogant. He wasn't stupid.

"Guard!" he called.

Nothing happened.

L started to talk, but Light shushed him and called again. Nothing happened.

"Well, Rule of Three," he said, and called a third time.

Then, all of a sudden, nothing happened. So much for information paradigms.

"Guard!"

"What?" snapped a man in uniform, irritated as he stormed down the hallway. "I heard you the first time, but now I'm annoyed, so make it quick."

"I want to talk to your leader and see if I can arrange a side change," said Light. "Please?"

"Look, you're the ninth person to try that this week," said the guard. "I understand you people have nothing but tricks, but would it kill you to come up with new ones?"

"Well, that's the thing," said Light. "I don't want to be one of those people."

"Heard it."

"Does it count that I dropped my weapon and immediately surrendered?"

"Heard it."

"Even if it was actually true?"

"Doubtful."

"Look behind you?"

"No way I'm falling for that one."

"If you look and there's nothing, will you trust me?"

"I said I'm not going to fall for that one! You people must think prison guards are stupid."

"Look behind me instead, then?"

"Heard it before."

"You've heard _that_?"

"Guy back in '42 tried that. I didn't see anything, and then his accomplice tried to jump me from behind."

"You could check behind you first, if that's an issue," Light offered.

"I told you I'm not going to fall for that!"

Light stared for a moment.

"Look, I've got something in my watch–"

"_Heard. It. Before._"

Light stared some more.

"Even if it's actually true–?"

The guard walked away, shaking his head.

"Stupid guard!" Light called after him. "Why am I getting screwed for everyone else's guilelessness?"

"Heard it," he heard from down the corridor.

L squinted. "Is 'guilelessness' even a word?"

Light was nonplussed.

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"Light? L? Are you there?"

Light woke, dangling unfinished trains of thought on rails labeled "Escape." L was still staring at him.

"What?" he said after returning L's stare through red eyes and realizing the slouching, sugar-gobbling freak wasn't going to respond.

"It's me, Watari. I've come to rescue you."

"Oh, good Lord," moaned Light. "Who saw that one coming?"

"Come on, L," said Watari, "let's go."

Watari unlocked their chains and made off down the hallway. L ran after him, Light slamming the door behind them and sitting in a corner of the cell. A moment later, the guard burst in.

"This enough to convince you I'm not lying?" asked Light, waving his now-free arms.

"Where's the other guy?" asked the guard.

"He's long gone by now. You know how these things work," sneered Light.

"Yeah, whatever. Stay here."

The guard hurried away, and alarms began to blare a few seconds. Light chuckled quietly to himself and leaned back against the wall. Soon, he would have his audience with their leader. Then . . . who knew? The rewards would definitely be substantial. And he knew L's face, which would be his undoing later on. All L had to defend himself were his powers of plot device, and Light had learned those as well. With this added power, he would be unstoppable.

The laugh became more maniacal. Never mind that he was sitting in a prison cell after the successful escape of the cell's other occupant. No, he definitely had everything under his control. Things were going according to his design.

The future looked uncertain, but only to the weak-minded (the word was sounding sweeter now, like a favorite childhood memory of ice cream on a sunny day). His plans extended to the horizon, somewhere among his shining city. Kira had come, and the world would bow to his rule.

The guard returned.

"The Master will see you now," he said, still distrustful.

"Thank you," said Light, laughing. "Exactly as planned."

He stood, in perfect form, and stalked out of the room. The guard shook his head and muttered, "these people and their antics," before running to show the overconfident Light where he should be stalking to.

˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙.˙

_I would say Light's best skill, both in the fic and canon, is the ability to be totally backed into a corner and rationalize an explanation why he's actually one step from victory. I'll ignore the fact that most times he pulls it off._

_I don't recall if I've mentioned this before, but I don't own the rights to Death Note or really anything else that had an appearance in this fic. I mean, if I did own the rights, this technically wouldn't be _fanfiction_, would it?_

–_Gonzalez_


End file.
